The clown had disappeared without a trace, and you were finally alone.

I'm surprised there aren't dust clouds everywhere...with this light I wouldn't be able to see it anyway.

But what could it be that Jack owes the clown? He sounded like he was genuinely mad about it, or at least anticipating getting his dues.

His tone had taken on a darker rasp when he admitted to you that Jack had a debt. It had put you more on edge than any of the things that Jack had done to you. Those, you had been furious about – they'd torn you apart, figuratively and literally, but they'd never made you weak in the knees with anticipation of what Jack would do next. The clown, somehow, had more of an effect upon you.

Is it because of what he did to my mother? Or is it just the way he looks?

It was an odd thing with Jack. His mask had made him seem either more or less human, depending on the situation, but before he'd taken it off, you were always able to maintain the plausible deniability that maybe he's still human and maybe I can talk some sense into him—but the clown was different. He'd been inhuman from the get-go, both in his demeanor and in his appearance. He was something you would never be able to understand in the slightest, and it was more unsettling than Jack's gory predictability.

In fact, it's almost more honest of him. Jack lies to me, or just does what he wants to me with no explanation. The clown, on the other hand...

The clown had never lied to you about what he was. Whether it was because he never told you in the first place or because it was something you ended up assuming, you didn't care to admit.

"A friend of mine suggested I do art to have fun, but paper and pencils weren't really reactive enough. The reds are never quite as vibrant as I want them to be, you know? This one here is one of my best pieces. I'm happy you had a chance to see, especially after the failure I made of the last one..."

It was a terrible memory to bring up, but you were half comforted by the fact that the clown had told you the truth. He wanted a canvas that would react. He was capable of failure. You could clearly recall the sincerity with which he had said that to you.

You were disgusted with yourself for thinking so, but the little voice at the back of your head wouldn't stop whispering that it's true, it's true.

And then, you thought of Jack. He was the worst thing that had ever happened to you, and you had no trouble admitting it. He'd put you in a dark corner of the world, made you want to run, but gave you nowhere to go. He'd trapped you, wholly. You never doubted the things that he said in the moment, but he contradicted himself almost constantly. He either wanted to hurt you or didn't at any moment, and there was almost no way to tell. He was either human or he wasn't, and he hurt you every time you asked. You knew nothing about him, besides that he thought you smelled nice.

At least there's that, yeah? Eyeless guy thinks I'm pretty!

Your hand travelled down your stomach and to your abdomen. When your fingers grazed the incision, you flinched at the stinging pain. The movement from your legs only made you hurt worse, and you cringed and whimpered while trying to get yourself back into the position Jack had placed you in. The thought made you sick, as did the pain, and as you felt the bile rising in your throat, you made the decision.

The clown wants something? I can do that much to inconvenience Jack, if he's so desperate to do the same to me.

"Fine," you sighed into the air as though someone could hear you.

You could've sworn you heard that awful, rasping laugh echoing quietly through the room.

A/N Didn't I say it would happen eventually?